Somewhere In Time
by Noorah
Summary: A series of 100 drabbles based on one word prompts. Snippets of life before, during and after the books. Mainly Katniss/Peeta.
1. Alcohol

**A/N:** This is a somewhat (_read: incredibly_) ambitious idea of mine that I'm going to work desperately on actually completing. I'm kind of excited and nervous about this, as it's the biggest thing I've ever taken on. These stories will not be continuous, each chapter will be a snapshot in time. I will mainly focus on Peeta and Katniss, but there will be others from time to time. 100 one word prompts.  
>Here I go.<p>

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><p><strong>Alcohol<strong>

After winning the games and surviving the Quell, he understands why Haymitch spends his life in a drunken stupor. He never overindulges like their tipsy mentor, but sometimes it's the only thing that keeps his nightmares at bay.

It's a tall bottle that's not quite full, stashed in the cupboard two left from where he keeps the flour. It is his last resort. The last thing he turns to when everything else hasn't been enough. He can count on his hands the number of times he's drank, but that count is getting up there.

He will eventually have to start using his toes.

It's not often anyone in their house drinks it, he reflects as he caps the bottle and tucks it out of sight for the next time Katniss isn't quite able to chase all the nightmares away. He tosses back the liquid and shudders at the liquid fire.

He is never prepared for the burn.

Setting the glass down, he turns to go back upstairs to bed where he knows he'll lie awake and hold his wife for the rest of the night. He knows he'll catch hell in the morning when Katniss realizes he was drinking. And he knows that her anger will just be an act.

He knows she has her own bottle of liquid courage hidden with her hunting gear.

He doesn't blame her.


	2. Mirror

AN: Two down, 98 to go. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Mirror<strong>

When she looks at the scars and burns that cover his body, she sees herself. She sees hardships and desperation and fear written in raised lines and shiny skin. It is a map she can trace with her fingers, and the familiar patterns comfort her in some weird, different way. It means that Peeta is still alive, still beside her, still protecting her.

It is the story of their lives, wrought in battle, defeat, and victory. The book of who they are and how hard they fought to get to these simple moments of peace. It is a kind of Braille, a language that can tell hundreds upon thousands of stories about a young girl and boy who were tossed headfirst into chaos, hell, the abyss.

She knows those scars and burns will fade and she begins to see them as a small sign of hope, living, love. She knows which scars he has from protecting her, which were caused by others and which she caused herself.


	3. Windows

AN: Well, here's a little headcannon I came up with. I'm not sure about the way I wrote this, but I think it turned out okay. I'm also looking for a beta! If you are interested, please PM me and we'll talk!

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><p>Peeta Mellark always slept with the windows open. It didn't matter if it was warm or cold, raining or snowing, the window in his room was always open to the elements.<p>

He wasn't quite sure how it began, but he thinks it probably has to do with how much he liked listening to the District as it slowed and settled and then went to sleep. It was comforting and familiar, a kind of lullaby that lured him into sleep.

His mother hated it, yelled about how they didn't have enough coal to keep the house warm in the winter. She didn't care about the rest of the year, or that each of them had warm sleeping clothes and blankets, she was always worried about the coal.

He put his name in the tesserae ten times in order to get the extras. He wanted to make sure they had enough to trade for more coal if it was needed, that winter as he slept with his window open. His older brother had put his name in ten times every year, so he would be safe.

Then his name was pulled from the bowl, and he found himself on a train to the capitol with his window open in a desperate attempt to hold onto his home as it slipped ever farther from his grasp.


	4. Addicted

AN: This is one that I'm not proud of, but I like. It was weird, I seriously felt like this one was easier for me to write than the ones with Katniss and Peeta are. Whoo. Alrighty, time for bed. Enjoy!

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><p>Addicted<p>

Haymitch hadn't always been a drinker, but it's easier to remember him as the drunkard, falling apart and hurt than it is to remember him as the vibrant young man he was once. Before the Hunger Games. Before the Reaping.

They remember him all right. Bright eyed, clever and handsome, Haymitch was a friend to all while being a friend to none. He was a loner by nature, something that had only intensified after he survived the games and came home to a world that was no longer as black and white as it had once seemed to him.

They had cheered him on, District 12. They gathered what little money they could spare to send for supplies. They had watched with bated breath as he made decisions, as the girl from 12 fell, as he held in his guts as he fought. They had all cried when he had won.

It took a long time for people to get used to this sullen boy that appeared after the games. They wouldn't meet his eyes, couldn't speak directly to him for a long while. They didn't know what to make of this victor, of the boy who was dumped into the arena and left for dead.

So he got drunk. And he stayed drunk.


	5. Delivery

A/N: -Tip toes in- Hi... Well, to say the least, Real Life got in the way of me writing anything. My computer commited suicide, I gained seniority at work (and with that, about 15 extra hours a week) and my sister and my best friend are getting married here in about a week and a half. Needless to say, this has been long in the making, and not nearly as well don as I had hoped. To make up for it, there is another chapter on it's way. Enjoy!

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><p>It was with steady hands that Peeta Mellark received his newborn child from his mother-in-law. He returned her smile before looking down at the baby in his arms. He'd held babies before, admittedly very few, but the action seemed to come naturally to him as he sat on the sofa, eyes locked on the baby.<p>

He stared at the life he held in his hands, studying the new face that was already so dear to his heart. She was a weird pink, she had no hair, her eyes weren't open and _boy _was she small, but in his eyes, she was _beautiful. _

He didn't want to give her up when asked, but handing her to Katniss all he could do is smile. Their Rose was perfect.


	6. Memorial

A/N: I said soon, yes? Enjoy.

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><p>Katniss Mellark only allowed herself to cry in two places. One was in her bedroom with the doors shut and locked, and the other was in her garden, sitting beside the primroses she and Peeta tended. It was weird, she thought at times, to mourn her sister by crying over a plant, but it made her feel better. Almost human again.<p>

Peeta left her alone when he heard her crying in their room. There were nights he'd take up sleeping on the couch so she could have her privacy. He understood the need for space, but he would never leave her be when he found her in the garden.

Katniss was one of the strongest people he knew, but finding her her tears running down her cheeks as she carefully pruned the primroses was enough to make any man kneel beside her and begin to help. He weeded and watered and thought about those they had lost, leaving Katniss with her tears and her thoughts.


End file.
